


Operation Serenity

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, i've lost my mind apparently, it's all fluff really, operation serenity, this is the first in a number of one-shots and short fics, to keep me sane while we continue to wait for the BMAM to return from the Ukraine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8405110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: This will be the repository for a bunch of different Campwolfe One-shots, drabbles, and fluff pieces over the next 25 days while we continue to wait (and wait) for Bernie Wolfe to get her big mach army butt back on AAU.  Over on Tumblr we all seemed to go into a collective meltdown with the strange ooc road that the writers seem to be steering us down vis. a vis Bernie being a one-trick villain at the moment and Serena perhaps flirting with alcoholism and depression.  So what does any fangirl, fic writer worth her salt do when something like this happens? She goes off to create the reality she wants to see and f*** the writers.  These pieces will all be tributes to my undying love for Serena Campbell and Bernie Wolfe we've come to know and adore.





	1. AAU Vs. Keller

**Author's Note:**

> So what would happen if there was a water balloon fight between AAU and Keller? If you've always wanted to know - this fic is for you.

1:00am

“I can’t remember a night shift that’s been this quiet in ages,” Fletch moaned and massaged the back of his neck.

“Ai, FLETCH,” both Bernie and Serena turned on him.

“Hush,” Bernie commanded. 

“You’ll jinx it,” Serena finished, “and Lord knows we could use a calm night. I don’t know about you but Hallowe’en left me ragged and I for one am not looking forward to the Christmas rush.”

“Right, sorry,” Fletch raised his hands in front of him, “it’s just there are only so many times I can inventory the supplies before I go right bloody mental.”

“Be happy we have supplies Fletch,” Serena said drily as she looked back down at her charts.

Bernie wandered over to where he was standing. 

“Hmm, that does look fascinating,” she smiled. “Good to know the NHS is keeping us hip deep in gauze, tweezers and………latex.” She quirked her eyebrow at Fletch as she fingered a pair of disposable gloves. 

She grasped his arm and steered him away from Serena, “You know when I was with my unit, when everyone was going a bit bonkers during a lull there was this thing we’d do….” 

“What are those two whispering about?” Raf asked Serena as he dropped a short stack of files on the desk. “Dr. Digby’s just finishing up checking sutures in Room 6 but other than that it looks like we’re in for a quiet night.”

 “Oh not you too,” Serena shot him a look, “And as for those two,” she angled her head at Fletch and Bernie, her face softening as she stared openly at Bernie, “up to no good I’m sure. She does love winding him up.”

“It looks good on you,” Raf stated.

“Raf, really,” she fingered the collar of her orange blouse, “I’ve worn this same shirt on and off for the last seven months and you’re only now just noticing?”

“Don’t be daft,” he laughed, “I meant love. It looks good on you.”

Serena coloured slightly and tugged nervously at her necklace. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“In a word,” he replied, “Yes.”

Serena blushed furiously and swatted at him with her file.

“Just popping up to Keller for a consult,” Bernie called over her shoulder.

“What?” Serena looked around puzzled.

“Won’t be a tick.”

“The phone didn’t ring did it? Or am I going deaf?”

Raf just shrugged his shoulders and Serena shook her head and went back to her charts.

————————————-

2:00am

“FIRE IN THE HOLE”

Serena jolted awake at her desk, jumped up and threw open the office door.

“What in God’s name is going on-“

She jerked her head back at the last second to miss being hit by a blue projectile hurtling past her head.

SPLAT!

She had just enough time to register a darkening patch of water on the back of what looked like one of Sacha’s impossibly patterned shirts before another projectile came slamming down the corridor in her direction.

 “That’s a THREE,” she heard Fletch crow as she watched in shock as a soaking Sacha who was clutching what looked like a water balloon, turned and tripped over a chair.

The ward was in complete mayhem. Serena’s brain was working overtime to catch up to her reflexes.

Water balloons. 

Latex gloves. 

She could scarcely believe it. Her team were using latex gloves as water balloons. 

In a water fight. On her ward. 

As if she needed confirmation another water filled glove whistled past her head and hammered against the desk in the middle of the unit.

“Come on Dominic is that all you’ve got?” Bernie’s voice thundered from behind the desk. 

“Ha! You think that’s Dom?” Jasmine crowed as she pitched another balloon at the top of Bernie’s head peeking up over the desk. “Face it Wolfe we’ve got you pinned down.”

Serena watched in wonder as Bernie shot up from behind the desk and in one clean movement scooped a balloon glove in each hand, darted to the side and pitched both balloons in rapid fire at the tiny blonde in soaking purple scrubs standing in the middle of the hall.

 SPLAT. KERSPLAT.

The balloons found their mark hitting Jasmine squarely in the chest, the other bouncing off her shoulder and exploding upward to thoroughly soak her hair.

“Jasmine’s down,” Bernie hollered, “Two points for AAU, Fletch, rack it up.”

“ALL. OF. YOU. STOP.” Serena yelled at the top of her lungs. 

 For a moment everyone froze and Serena had to push down hysterical laughter as she observed the scene before her. A murderous look in her eyes, Jasmine’s arm was in mid-fling. A dripping Sacha was trying unsuccessfully to hide his bulk behind a trolley. Raf and Fletch were caught racing from the hall to a laundry bin that looked suspiciously like a repository for more ammunition. Morven was on the floor, her back to the desk and Bernie, her Bernie, Major Berenice Griselda Wolfe, was the only moving piece in the tableau. She skidded to the middle of the ward, whipped her head from side to side, her blonde curls plastered against her face. She squatted and tucked into a roll, coming to rest directly at Serena’s feet.

“Bugger! I’m going to regret that move in the morning,” she winced and then smiled beatifically up at Serena.

 “What the hell are you playing at?” Serena thundered.

“I thought that would have been fairly self evident, Fräulein,” Bernie jumped to her feet and grabbed Serena’s arm. “AAU is at war with Keller,” she yanked Serena back into their shared office. “And we’re winning.”

Bernie leaned against the door panting and Serena simply stared even as the racket picked up again outside the office.

SPLAT! SPLAT! Punctuated by a shriek from Morven.

“Dominic, you waster!”

“Morven’s down. Three points Keller,” Dom’s voice filtered through the mayhem.

The office window rattled and water jetted down the pane.

“This was your idea I take it?” Serena asked her voice dangerously low.

 Bernie nodded, her wet hair, glued against her forehead. 

“It’s perhaps gotten a little out of hand,” she panted.

 It was mad. Serena knew she should be furious but watching the bedraggled woman that she loved, her scrubs soaked, eyes flashing and her chest heaving Serena felt a strange combination of pride, white hot desire for the woman before her and exhilaration. With mounting horror she realized she wanted in on the game.

———————-

3:30am

Bernie and Serena were bunkered behind the laundry ammunition bin. Serena’s shirt was soaked and she could feel water trickling between her breasts, across her stomach and soaking the band at the top of her trousers.

“Fletch and Raf are here,” Bernie gestured with her pen to a crude diagram she’d drawn. “They’re going to smoke out Sacha and Jasmine and that’s when you’re going to nail Dom.”

“Are all these tactics really necessary?” Serena hissed.

 “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, my love,” Bernie whispered, “but you’re soaking wet. You’ve been hit every bloody time and you have hands down the worst aim of anyone. Ever. We’re getting killed. Tactics are all we have at this point.”

They heard a scuffling behind them and Bernie scooted to the left, lobbing latex grenades as she went.

Serena poked her head around the side of the desk as two more blue balloons whistled past her head.

“Poor aim my arse,” she muttered to herself as she leapt up.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE,” she yelled, winding her arm back and hurling her balloon down the hall.

 SPLAAATTTTT

Out of the corner of her eye Serena saw Bernie deftly dodge a projectile and then stop short, her eyes registering shock.

Serena whipped her head in the direction of Bernie’s gaze, her own eyes widening, arms falling limply to her sides.

Ric Griffin stood in the middle of the ward, a soaking wet circle blooming like a dark flower on his pristine shirt and tie.

“Care to explain yourself Ms. Campbell?” he asked mildly, surveying the wreckage that had temporarily descended upon AAU.

“Brilliant time to improve your aim, Fräulein,” Bernie said sotto voce.

“Not helping,” Serena hissed before turning back to Ric.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you it was a training exercise. For aim and dexterity?’ she cocked her head in his direction. “And morale?”

“As former Deputy CEO of this hospital one would have thought you’d have more sense,” Ric replied as he swiped ineffectually at his ruined shirt. “And decorum.”

Serena bit the inside of her her cheek, struggling to keep a straight face as Bernie barked out a laugh next to her.

“Find something humorous Ms. Wolfe?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Bernie struggled to contain her laughter, “If you’ll excuse me, I really should go and change.” 

Her dignified retreat was only hampered somewhat by the squelching noises from her shoes that echoed off the walls of the now quiet ward.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Serena grimaced, “I think Keller won.”

——————————

5:00am

“You didn’t!” Bernie sounded aghast, “You didn’t tell him that Keller won?”

Having changed into dry clothes Serena and Bernie were installed in their office, the door firmly closed. They had tasked Fletch, Raf and Morven with mopping things up and when Fletch complained that it had been Bernie’s idea in the first place she’d offered to buy them all breakfast.

“How else was I supposed to keep him from reporting this, this fiasco?” Serena shook her head. “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? A water balloon fight? Against Keller?” her voice went up another octave. “On the ward in the middle of the bloody night?”

“You have to admit, it was fun though,” Bernie smirked.

 Serena glared at her co-lead and lover but the expression didn’t really have any teeth and Bernie knew it.

“It worked though, didn’t it?” Bernie asked. “Telling him Keller won?”

“Of course it did,” Serena retorted. “Ric likes to pretend he’s a big man of the people but underneath he’s terribly competitive.”

 She leaned against Bernie’s desk, her hand reaching into a box sitting next to the computer. 

 “You’re not the only one around here who understands tactics.”

“Ouch,” Bernie clutched at her heart. “And I’ll have you know AAU was doing just fine under my guidance until you and I teamed up. Your aim is terrible.”

“Well it’s a good thing that these hands are better and doing other things then isn’t it?” Serena’s voice was suggestive and she felt a tingle down her spine as she watched Bernie blush. Their shift was over and Serena felt it was high time to take Bernie home and perhaps convince her to stay awake a wee bit longer before they slept the day away, entangled in one another.

“And another thing, Ms. Campbell, ‘Fire in the hole’ was Keller’s call to arms.” Bernie shook her head, “How many times did I tell you that we were using ‘Coming in hot’?”

“Yes, you did say,” Serena’s voice had lowered to a purr. “Strange I wasn’t able to remember that.” She’d moved close enough to Bernie that she could feel the other woman’s breath on her cheek. “Perhaps if your willing,” she ghosted her lips lightly over the shell of Bernie’s ear, “you could go over it with me again. Not sure that I’ve quite got it.” She nipped at Bernie’s earlobe and then stepped back against the desk, loathe to take things further in their office but gratified at Bernie’s sharp intake of breath.

“Ay ay, breakfast first though Fräulein,” Bernie coughed. “We don’t want to disappoint the troops.” 

“Of course,” Serena smiled.  

Bernie pushed through the door, calling out for Fletch. Serena continued to lean against the desk.

“Oh and Bernie,” Serena called.

“Hmm?” Bernie half turned, her mind already fixed on the idea of a hot cup of coffee.

“COMING IN HOT!”

 Bernie had just enough time to throw a hand in front of her face as Serena’s last water balloon struck her square in the chest.

At the look of shock on her face Serena broke into gales of laughter. 

“That’s a ten!” Fletch called out from the hallway.

“You are in so, much, trouble, when I get you home Serena Campbell,” Bernie growled as she squared her shoulders.

 Serena pressed a towel against Bernie’s chest and winked.

“I’m counting on it, soldier.”


	2. The One Where Bernie Watches Serena Change Into her Scrubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an anon prompt on Tumblr who asked me to write Bernie walking in on Serena while she's changing into her scrubs. This little one-shot is what transpired.

Bernie Wolfe pushed through the door of the locker room and stopped mid-stride at the sight of Serena Campbell shrugging efficiently out of her ubiquitous orange blouse. In the muted light Bernie could see the dusting of dark freckles across Serena’s creamy shoulders and she leaned against the wall, her blue scrubs dropping from her suddenly nerveless fingers. 

After more than a month of sharing Serena’s bed, mapping the constellation of those same freckles with her lips as well as her hands, she was still caught off guard at how breathless she became at the sight of Serena as she stripped herself bare.

“Don’t just stand there Ms. Wolfe,” Serena was all business but there was an undercurrent of playfulness in her voice, “Quick as you can. That bowel isn’t going to resect itself.”

“How did you know it was me?” Bernie asked, “I could have been Morven.”

“Morven doesn’t smell like vanilla.”

“I do not smell like vanilla,” Bernie stated as she leaned over to pick up her scrubs.

“You do,” Serena shot back, “and furthermore Morven does not, pant.”

“Pardon?” With two steps Bernie was at Serena’s side, her eyebrow raised. 

“You heard me,” Serena smiled and glanced up at Bernie even as she pulled her black camisole over her head, gratified to hear yet another sharp intake of breath from the blonde beside her. 

“Your style of panting is fairly…..distinctive.”

“Distinctive?” Bernie innocently traced her fingertip along Serena’s collarbone, allowing it to dip into the hollow between her breasts. She raked her nails lightly across the swell of Serena’s belly, fingers barely brushing the top of Serena’s trousers. Her lips found the shell of Serena’s ear. 

“Really?” she whispered, her voice deliberately breathy, “Recognizable? Rather like that little mewling cry you make in the back of your throat just before you-“

“Yes, thank you Berenice,” Serena blushed furiously and decisively removed Bernie’s hand from her waist, “A girl doesn't like having all her trade secrets revealed.”

“You’re blushing,” Bernie laughed as she slowly started unbuttoning her shirt.

Serena blushed harder.

“I’m not,” she said imperiously as she yanked on her scrub top, “it’s just another bloody hot flush.”

“Shall I call ahead to theatre and ask them to set up a wee fan for you Ms. Campbell?” 

 “Keep that up and you might find I’m not nearly as accommodating to warm your freezing cold feet later this evening,” Serena warned.

Bernie snorted and bit her bottom lip as she quickly shucked her jeans and grabbed for the bottoms of her own scrubs.

She stepped into them and watched as Serena deftly unzipped her trousers and let them fall to the tile floor. Bernie gasped for a third time since entering the locker bay, desire flooding through her even as her eyes widened in shock. 

“Who would have thought it,” she let out a low, appreciative whistle, “Serena Campbell. Commando.”

“Well if someone had done the washing when it was her turn I wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Serena retorted, “On balance, I must say it’s been rather a freeing experience.”

“You’ve been wandering about all day, without knickers, and you didn’t think to tell me,” Bernie’s voice dropped an octave and she grabbed Serena around the waist, her hands moving instinctively to cup Serena’s bottom.

“I thought it would make for a nice surprise,” Serena’s tart reply was softened by the lingering kiss she planted at the corner of Bernie’s mouth, “after our shift.”

She extricated herself from Bernie’s arms, pulling on her scrub pants, almost tripping as she headed, quickly, toward the door, putting a deliberate sway in her hips.

“And how am I supposed to concentrate in theatre,” Bernie sputtered, “ With you, when you, with you standing across the table from me bare-arsed under your scrubs?”

“Call on some of that army discipline,” Serena tossed a saucy look over her shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll be able to cope.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Bernie growled as she followed Serena out of the locker room.

 “Perhaps next time when procrastination sets in you’ll think twice,” Serena replied sweetly, “before leaving all the dirty washing in a giant heap on the floor.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Bernie warned, her knuckles brushing over the swell of Serena’s hip before she stopped, allowing Serena the opportunity to put a respectable distance between them.

“It would be a tactical error to think I don’t know what you’re doing, Major.” she called as continued down the hall.

“Just enjoying the view,” Bernie muttered to herself, but she sighed and quickened her pace.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long, frustrating afternoon.


	3. All By Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Bernie. That is all you need to know.

1.  
In hindsight, Bernie was willing to grudgingly admit that she probably shouldn’t have answered Dom’s text. Her only excuse was that he’d caught her at a weak moment; forty-five minutes before the end of another torturous shift working with Serena Campbell.

Since Bernie’s return, the woman had been maddeningly professional and yet had rebuffed all of Bernie’s attempts to talk about anything other than patient care or the trauma unit. Granted, Bernie’s half-hearted overtures to start any type of conversation of a personal nature usually began with her mumbling “Um, Serena…” while staring at the floor and wringing her hands.

The old Serena would have waited patiently, silently encouraged, and given Bernie room to make some sort of stumbling start. Bernie had quickly realized that this new Serena, a Serena who had taken to sashaying around in blouses that revealed cleavage instead of disguising it, a Serena who had somehow cultivated the art of never being in their shared office for more than ten minutes at a time, this new and foreign Serena apparently had little to no interest in  
anything, she, Bernie might want to talk about if it didn’t involve cutting someone open or sewing them back up again.

And yet she stared.

Every moment they were on shift together Bernie could feel Serena’s gaze on her. Bernie would look up, trying to catch her eye but each time Serena would very deliberately return to whatever she’d been doing, be it assessing a patient or writing a chart, and studiously ignore Bernie. As soon as she turned back to her own task at hand she could feel it, Serena’s piercing stare.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence between them and Serena’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Bernie felt as though she was slowly drowning, so when her phone vibrated in the front pocket of her scrubs she reached for it like a lifeline, swiping at the screen in desperation.

'How’s the moping going? Has she talked to you yet or we still at level four nuclear winter?!'

Bernie smiled in spite of herself.

'Ha! I am not moping and she spoke me this morning in fact.'

Bernie looked up reflexively as she hit the send button but Serena was gone.

Her phone vibrated again.

'???'

She dashed off a reply.

'She said ‘Ms. Wolfe you’re needed in Theatre.’'

Hardly a moment and another message popped onto the screen.

'Niiiiiice. A real thaw you got going there.'

Bernie chuckled quietly as she headed back toward an office she instinctively knew would be empty.

'Sod off. Pot? Kettle? How’s it going in your circus?'

'Same carnival different ride. But I’ve got a plan. Albies?'

Bernie flopped into her chair and looked at her watch.

'Give me 45'

Her phone buzzed one last time.

'Copy that!'

It was closer to an hour when Bernie slid into Albie’s, a strange mixture of disappointment and relief washing over her as she scanned the room and realized that Serena was not among the patrons. She strode to the bar and sank onto a stool next to Dom.

“So what’s this brilliant plan of yours then?”

Dom turned to her, his eyes lighting up, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Well, considering that since you’ve been back you’ve been about as much fun as a funeral,”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “You’ve not exactly been Mr. Jovial your-”

Dom cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll admit my life hasn’t been drama free but you,” he nudged Bernie’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to be the one to say it, Bernie, but you need an intervention.”

She snorted.

“I’m serious,” Dom continued as he waved at the bartender. “You have been wandering around the hospital for almost two weeks now with your face looking like a smacked arse.”

“If this is supposed to be cheering me up, you’re doing a piss poor job of it,” Bernie stated.

“Oh we’re just getting started,” he replied and turned his attention to the bartender. “Two whiskeys, doubles. Hold the water. Hold the ice.”

Bernie stared at him with a bemused expression on her face.

Dom picked up his glass and pushed the other one toward Bernie.

“Enough of this tail between your legs business. If Serena can’t see you’re sorry, doesn’t want to hear your side of the story then ‘fuck ‘er’.” Dom raised his glass.

“Dom, I,” Bernie sighed and ducked her head.

“I’m serious, Bernie,” he continued earnestly nudging her glass with the rim of his own, “Tonight we’re going to drink and we’re going to laugh and we’re going to drink some more, until one of three things happens.”

“I shudder to think,” Bernie murmured but she picked up the glass in front of her, swirling the amber liquid inside. “Go on then.”

“You’re either going to smile, pass out, or, just for tonight forget that Serena bloody Campbell exists.”

Bernie snorted again but Dom’s earnest enthusiasm was infectious and she realized for the first time since she’d been back how much his friendship meant to her. He’d been the only one to check in on her, go out of his way to find out how she was actually coping. Raf, Fletch, even Morven hadn’t been exactly cool with her but it was obvious that they were firmly in Serena’s corner when it came to assigning blame for all that had transpired while she’d been in Ukraine. And perhaps they were right, perhaps it was true that she didn’t deserve Serena but damnit she was trying and the woman wouldn’t budge. An inch. Bernie realized that if she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so heartsick, she’d be well and truly infuriated.

Maybe Dom was right. If she couldn’t bring herself to fury maybe it was time to simply tie one on and at least pretend she knew how to smile.

Bernie ceased swirling the whisky and met Dom’s eyes.

“All right, you’re on.”

2.  
“Great things about being single,” Dom gestured wildly with his glass. “Go.”

“Oi, that’s top shelf,” Bernie slurred, “you spill it you sell it.”

“Sell it? Don’t you mean you spill it you buy it?” Dom wheezed.

“Buy. Sell. S’all the same,” Bernie waved him off and gathered herself, blinking her eyes several times to bring him into focus.

The evening had become a blur. She’d lost track of how much they’d had to drink, how many shots they’d done. She was vaguely aware she could no longer feel her face. The encouraging upside was she was also vaguely aware that the pain that had been lodged in her belly ever since she’d been informed that Serena had rekindled her romance, however briefly, with Robbie had dulled to a low ache. She raised her glass. Time for another.

“Brilliant things about being single,” she cleared her throat, “No one banging on at you about doing the washing up.”

“Christ yes,” Dom agreed, “To, ‘fuck the mess.’”

Slam the shots went back.

“And freedom. I don’t have to ask anyone if I can go out on a Friday evening,” Bernie said expansively, “ But you,” she pointed at Dom, “you have to clear it with the ‘powers that be’. Did he make you fill out a form?”

“Fuck you too, Bern,” Dom said acidly.

“Not even if you pour another bottle of scotch into me. To freedom,” 

Bernie slammed back another shot and grimaced. “When did we switch to tequila?”

“Keep up girlfriend,” Dom knocked his glass back onto the bar. “An hour ago at least.”

Bernie squinted and then nodded. That sounded about right.

“Also you can leave your knickers on the floor and no one gives a bloody shit,” she smiled at Dom even as she swayed sideways on her bar stool.

“To knickers!” Dom reached out to steady her.

Slam. Another. And Bernie could feel the tequila burn the back of her throat. Her eyes watered and she couldn’t decide if it was the alcohol or the remnants of grief. Either way perhaps it was time to slow down, attempt to consider the conundrum of how she was going make it back to her flat. In her current state she wasn’t sure she could even successfully navigate her way to the ladies toilet. She turned back to Dom and sighed.

“I’ll bet Serena has got some really nice knickers.”

“Love you, Bern, but I am not drinking to Serena Campbell’s pants,” he shuddered, pushing his glass across the bar. “Not now. Not ever.”

“A true friend would raise a glass and help me mourn such a tragic loss,” Bernie deliberately made her lower lip quiver, but the shock on Dom’s face at the prospect that she might cry set her off into gales of laughter.

“Your lost chance to get your leg over with Serena,” Dom managed between his own bursts of laughter, “or the tragic loss of your dignity?”

He hiccupped and Bernie laughed even harder.

“Don’t talk about her like that you pillock,” Bernie swatted his arm, “It’s not about a bloody shag. She’s Serena bloody Campbell,” Bernie’s voice was imperious, the laughter dying in her throat, “I just really, really-”

“Like her,” Dom finished.

“Fucked up,” Bernie crossed her arms on the bar and dropped her forehead between them, “like I always manage to do and now it’s too late.”

She felt Dom’s hand on her back and she tentatively reached her arm around and placed her palm over his knuckles. It felt good. The comfort. Even if Dom’s hand didn’t have the lightness, the tenderness of Serena’s that she’d become so attached to. Bernie had been in Kiev for two weeks when it dawned on her with a kind of creeping desperation, how much and how often Serena Campbell used to touch her. Bernie had no recollection of when it started or of ever  
needing to adjust to it. It was simply a part of their everyday interactions, a part of them, and once it was gone Bernie keenly felt its loss. What she wouldn’t give to stand in the line at Pulses, waiting for her coffee order, and feel Serena’s palm, feather light, brush the small of her back.

Bernie sighed and raised her head.

“I am drunk,” she said in wonder.

“Bernie, two hours ago we were drunk.” Dom pulled out his phone. “I think it’s safe to say you’re well and truly obliterated. Time to fetch you a ride home I think.”

3.  
Nothing in the world could have prepared Serena for the sight of her trauma surgeon (God when had that returned, thinking that Bernie Wolfe belonged to her?), ex-army Major, Berenice Griselda Wolfe slumped against Dominic Copeland, coat half buttoned, hair disheveled, smiling like the village idiot and singing at the top of her lungs.

“All BY MYSELFFFFF,” she warbled, “Don’t wanna BE all BYYYY MYSELFFFF.”

Serena opened her mouth and then closed it immediately, two things becoming clear in very short order. Bernie Wolfe had a set of lungs on her.

And she was staggeringly, ear-splittingly awful.

“Thank you, Dr. Copeland,” Serena said briskly, “I think I can take it from here.”

At the sound of Serena’s voice Bernie immediately stopped singing and scrubbed her hand across her mouth and tried, unsuccessfully to flip her fringe out of her eyes. Serena bit her lip to keep from smiling. She was, after all, supposed to be furious.

“Dom, you idiot,” Bernie shook her head, and ineffectually swatted at his chest, “You stupid boy, you called Ser-” she stopped, tried again, “Ms. Ca-,” still not right, “you called her?” Bernie finally managed to finish her mangled sentence.

“‘Her’ is standing right here, Bernie,” Serena replied, “I’m not entirely sure why Dr. Copeland decided to ring me, perhaps because he’s functioning on only marginally more brain cells than you at the present minute, but now that he has, let’s see about getting you into the car.”

“Could have just called a cab,” Bernie mumbled, her face pressed into Dom’s chest, refusing to look at Serena. “Or I could walk. Walking is good. I like walking.”

“You’re in absolutely no state to walk anywhere,” Serena retorted and put her arm around Bernie’s waist. Bernie shrugged away.

“Am so,” she said belligerently. She stepped out from the shelter of Dom’s arms, turned on her heel and began to weave unsteadily down the corridor. “See,” she called, “I’m perfectly fine on my own. All by mysssself,” she took up the refrain again.

“Perhaps, but you’re on course for the coat room,” Serena answered drily, “so unless you’re planning on tunnelling through the back wall of Albie’s you might want to change your heading.”

Serena turned to Dominic.

“What on earth were you two drinking?”

“We started with whisky,” Dom replied sheepishly, “and then at some point we switched to tequila. It’s all a bit fuzzy. I probably let her overdo it.”

“You think?” Serena snapped!

“Don wanna live all BY MYSSELLFFF ANYMORE,” Bernie’s voice came wailing out of the coat room and Serena cringed.

“She’s really horrible,” Dom apologized, “I’m sorry. I did try to get her to stop.”

“Never mind,” Serena replied, “just don’t let her get near a karaoke machine. And what are we going to do with you?” She arched her eyebrows, “You’re in no fit state yourself to get home.”

“Isaac said he’ll come collect me,” Dom sighed. “I’m sure to get a right bollocking.”

“I’ll leave that to you to sort out, shall I?” her nostrils flared, “I’ve got enough on, trying to sort out AAU’s newest vocal superstar.”

Serena pushed past Dom and found Bernie leaning against the wall. She heaved another sigh but her eyes softened.

Bernie was a mess with her coat mis-buttoned, legs askew and her arms crossed over her forehead. Serena felt a lump forming in her throat as she simply stared, openly this time, instead of furtively. Serena could see Bernie’s pulse beating at the base of her neck and for one brief moment it was all she could do to stop herself from pulling Bernie fiercely into her arms and never again letting her go. Because Bernie Wolfe might be an infuriating beautiful disaster but Serena couldn’t deny any longer that she was her beautiful disaster.

“Come on Celine Dion,” Serena said gently, “Let’s get you sorted.”

“Eric Carmen,” Bernie shot back and smiled triumphantly at Serena.

“What?” Serena asked as she moved to Bernie’s side, sliding her arm around her waist for the second time that evening.

“All By Myself was written and performed first by Eric Carmen,” Bernie enunciated, “Not Celine Dion. So how ‘bout that, Serena Campbell?”

“What I think is that you should very much leave it to Eric Carmen, or Celine Dion or whoever else to do the singing bit and let me get you into the car before you fall flat on your face.”

“For someone who is supposed to by my equal, you’re awfully bossy,” Bernie groused but she allowed Serena to lead her out of the coat room.

Bernie surrendered into the luxury of leaning on Serena. This was the closest they’d been since she’d blindly burst from their office onto the ward. Bernie’s lips were only inches from Serena’s hair and the scent of her perfume was like coming home. Bernie choked on a sob and cleared her throat.

“Okay, careful now,” Serena commanded as she steered Bernie toward the door, “There’s a bit of a step here. And push.”

“Yes, thank you, I might be a bit tipsy Serena but I do know how a door works.”

“Tipsy?” Serena barked out a laugh, “As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m no prude when it comes to the shiraz, and I’ve certainly not been a stranger to whisky in my time, but you Berenice Wolfe are blind drunk.”

As if to prove her right Bernie stumbled and would have fallen but for Serena tightening her grip around Bernie’s shoulders, shooting her right arm reflexively across Bernie’s chest. They froze and Bernie couldn’t determine whether the sudden wave of dizziness she felt was from the countless tequila shots or from the exquisite feeling of Serena’s skin pressed against her breasts.

“Serena,” Bernie’s voice wavered but Serena was pulling her the last steps to her car and propping her against the passenger side door.

“Do be a good girl and stay standing while I find my keys,” Serena’s voice was brisk but Bernie could hear an undercurrent of nervousness.

“Serena, I’m an idiot,” Bernie said.

“Yes, you’ve just consumed half of greater London’s supply of tequila, “Serena replied. “That you’re an idiot isn’t lost on me.”

Bernie unclenched her fingers, grabbing Serena’s hands, the keys for the car falling in a jangle between their feet.

“Not just tonight, well obviously tonight,” Bernie swallowed, “the drinking with Dom yes. But that was,” she faltered, “I was trying to,” her voice died away.

“For God’s sake, Bernie, what?”

“I was trying to forget for one bloody evening what a complete shit I’ve been to you, how I buggered everything up beyond all bloody repair and that I bloody well fucking-,” she stopped, burying her hands in her hair at the side of her head, feeling her short nails dig into her scalp.

“You bloody well fucking what?” Serena’s voice was almost a growl but her eyes remained mild.

“That I bloody well fucking screwed up,” Bernie’s voice broke, “That my heart is utterly broken and that I really, truly…..like you.”

“There now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Serena said gently, using her thumbs to softly wipe away the tears tracking down Bernie’s cheeks.

“Telling you how I feel?”

“No, finishing your sentences,” Serena chuckled. “And yes telling me how you feel. You’re rather expressive when you’re drunk. Perhaps we should try it more often.”

“There’s a we,…there might be a we?” Bernie stammered, hope creeping into her voice.

“I don’t know about you Berenice, but I never stopped thinking about us.”

Bernie’s eyes filled and she looked up briefly at the fixed and waterless stars before pulling Serena against her in a fierce embrace.

“I really want to kiss you,” Bernie said, her lips in Serena’s hair, “but also I think I might need to be sick.”

Serena pulled back and shook her head, laughing.

“Given the size of the hangover you’re going to have tomorrow that might be a good idea. Get out in front of it I always say.”

Bernie stoically clenched her jaw.

“Would you like me to hold your hair?” Serena asked sweetly.

“I’m not going to be sick here, Serena, in the carpark. I may be an idiot but I do have some pride,” Bernie replied, “Perhaps you could take me home and I can regret the tequila in the privacy of my own bathroom?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Serena said as she scooped up her keys and hit the button on the fob, unlocking the car. “I’ll put you up in a cozy spare room with a marvellous bathroom. And in the morning you can huddle under a blanket on my sofa, as long as you promise not to moan too much. My french press makes a decent cup of coffee and I’ve found, through extensive experience, that it’s quite the cure-all.”

“My coffee really is complete…..shit,” Bernie admitted.

Bernie opened the passenger door as Serena rounded the front of the car.

“Oh and Bernie, one more thing,” Serena stopped and looked across the roof, “So we’re clear.”

Bernie held her breath.

“Just because you will eventually end up in my bed I don’t want you to make the mistake of thinking I will ever allow you anywhere near my choir.”

Serena slid into the driver’s seat leaving a stunned Bernie to sag against the passenger door, her heart vainly trying to catch up to what she’d just heard.

“Well come on,” Serena’s voice floated up through the window, “Do you think you can manage that?”

“Ay ay, Fräulein,” Bernie muttered with a smile, “Somehow I’ll try to cope.”


End file.
